Five Times Eames Dreamed of Having Sex With Arthur
by Blackbirdox
Summary: And the one time it wasn't a dream.


**Disclaimer: I own two Inception ticket stubs and a whole lot of ideas. That's it. **

**A/N: I'm beginning to think that I've been incepted with the idea that E/A is the only pairing that exists and therefore, is the only one worth writing for. I'm not really sure how I feel about this but I just had to write it. I couldn't stop myself. Reviews are just as addicting as this pairing is so don't hesitate to leave one if you can spare the time.**

i.

The first time Eames dreams about it, he jolts awake somewhere in the middle- a mess of sweat and tangled sheets, unable to actually remember too much about it.

It's not uncommon for him to dream about his team mates while he's working a job- after all the time they spend together, there's usually not a lot else on his mind, but excluding the time that time he imagined walking in on Ariadne during a shower, he's never looked upon them in any manner but professionally.

Especially not Arthur and he can't understand why the first time he _does_ dream about Arthur- conservative, uptight, stick in the mud Arthur- he's writhing beneath him on satin sheets, hair a mess, back arched and a cry of Eames' name on his lips.

It had startled him and perplexed him and made work damn near impossible for the next few days because every time he looked at Arthur, he imagined him naked or on his knees or squirming around on a bed and Eames frequently had to excuse himself from the room when he was around to regain his self control.

Strange as his new found attraction for Arthur was, Eames would be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed it.

ii.

The second time he dreams about it, it's after a long day and it's rough- full on quick and dirty, bent over a table, you're-not-going-to-walk-straight-for-a-week rough.

Arthur had been particularly grumpy that day and Eames had taken a great pride in pushing his buttons, leading to argument which caused Arthur to storm out of the warehouse- his perfectly tailored suit, which happened to be Eames' favorite, rumpled and wrinkly- leaving Eames' irritated and annoyed, which no doubt led to him taking his frustration out on a projection of Arthur because he couldn't take it out on the real thing.

He had tugged at Arthur's hair and gripped his hips with crushing force and left a trail of angry purple bruises along his neck from biting him too hard but Eames found the whole thing to be kind of beautiful because his dream spoke of a couple- an established couple who were comfortable enough to do that with each other.

There had been no hesitation or second guessing in either of their actions or exclamations. There had just been trust.

And that was how he wanted their relationship to be.

iii.

The third time he dreams about it, it's the day of their very first kiss and its gentle- actual lovemaking rather than rough fucking.

They're in a hotel in Paris that they've frequented numerous times, The Raphael- classic and clean and luxurious. Arthur's taste, naturally.

Their room had a view of the Eiffel Tower and as Arthur stood by the window, admiring the sight of it lit up against the night sky, Eames slid his arm around his waist and playfully kissed and nipped at his neck as he began backing up, causing Arthur to chuckle- a sound which Eames would like to hear more often outside of his dreams- as they stumbled over to the bed.

As he slowly eased Arthur back against the crisp linens, he trailed his fingers through his hair, mussing it and jarring it out of place so that a few strands fell across his forehead, and lavished a light kiss to his lips- one that had been just as soft as the one they had actually shared and Eames loves finally knowing exactly what that feels like.

Arthur's answering smile- a sight that Eames would like to see more often outside his dreams- was brilliant.

"Get on with it, Mr. Eames," he'd requested, curling his fingers around the back of his neck.

"All in good time, pet."

iv.

The fourth time he dreams about it, it's the night after Arthur gets shot on the job and it's hurried.

He'd had Arthur pinned back against the wall and his legs securely wrapped around his waist- thrusting into him at sloppy, uneven intervals. His face was tucked in the crook of Arthur's neck, murmuring all the things he hadn't been able to say in reality- things about how scared he had been and how relieved he was that Arthur was okay and how he's never going to let him get hurt. Ever.

And then, when he comes with a loud shout of Arthur's name, he draws in a shuddering breath and whispers the most important truth of all.

_I love you._

v.

The fifth time he dreams about it, it's right after he's able to speak those words out loud and for the first time, his dream wasn't just a dream- it was a memory.

It was a memory of Arthur's softly spoken, "I love you, too" and the way his lips had curved into a smile beneath Eames' and how perfectly they had fit together- like puzzle pieces; two halves of the same whole.

A memory of Arthur's soft gasps and quiet, muffled little moans- each and every one as calculated and intended as everything else he did. A memory of the way he shuddered beneath Eames and arched into his touches, clawing at his back as he struggled to pull him closer.

A memory of the lazy smile that overtook Arthur's lips as Eames rolled off of him and the way he so casually slung an arm around his waist, letting his head fall onto Eames' shoulder.

It was the first time he had truly seen Arthur relaxed and at ease and comfortable- his hair was out of place and sticking out in a thousand different directions and the ever pleasant worry lines that decorated his forehead and the corner of his mouth had smoothed themselves out and he was _smiling._

It was Eames' new favorite memory.

vi.

"What the hell was that?" Arthur seethes, yanking out his IV with a little more force than he intended. The fingers of his other hand begin to gingerly rub the tender spot on his right wrist.

"That was looking out for you, pet," Eames replies simply as he removes his own IV and winds up the tubing, snapping the PASIV closed. He stands up and stretches and the sound of his cracking bones is the only thing to be heard for a moment as Arthur just sits in his chair with his eyes narrowed, knuckles going white as they grip the arm rests. "What?"

Arthur hauls himself to his feet and adjusts the sleeve of his shirt, tension evident in even the simplest of his movements. "That was an unnecessary risk," he says through clenched teeth, referring to Eames' split second decision to step in front of a bullet for him. It was Arthur's split second decision to tackle him to the ground that had kept the both of them save but that doesn't mean he's any less pissed off about it.

Eames just gives a half hearted shrug of sorts, acting as if he really is that un-phased about the whole thing even though his heart is still pounding wildly against his ribcage and adrenaline is still coursing through his veins like a drug. "I was doing what I had to, darling."

"No, you-."

Eames simply raises a hand to silence him and then waves it flippantly. "I know, I know. It was stupid or rash or impulsive or whatever the hell else you're going to call it. I've heard it all before, pet," he says and then pauses, his eyes twinkling just slightly. "You really must get some new material Arthur."

Arthur's jaw is clenched so tightly that it actually begins to hurt and he has to loosen it a bit before he's able to respond. "Did you stop to consider the-."

"Consequences?" Eames hollers over his shoulder as he heads back to the main room of the warehouse. "Nah, didn't have to. I knew you'd do it for me."

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he storms off after Eames, grabbing a hold of the back of his jacket to stop him in his tracks. One quiet whisper of his name causes Eames to turn around and the smug smile on his face slowly fades at the dejected expression on Arthur's. He brings one hand up to cup his cheek and ghosts his thumb across his lips. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you," he mumbles. "I can't do that, darling."

And in typical Arthur fashion, he simply responds as with a roll of his eyes. "Getting yourself trapped in limbo proves nothing," he responds but his tone has softened. Eames can tell he's no longer angry or upset- he's just being himself. The stick in the mud.

"Well, you have no sense of adventure, love."

"You-."

Eames silences his him again, this time with a kiss, and it only takes a moment before Arthur crumbles and his arms wind around his neck, kissing him back furiously. Feverishly. Like it might very well be the last time because in their line of work, especially after what had just happened, they never know when that could be.

They tug and pull at each other- teeth clash and fingers tangle into hair and buttons scatter everywhere as they're forcefully torn off of jackets and shirts. Eames nips at Arthur and Arthur bites him back as they stumble backwards, Arthur's back slams into the work bench they claim as their own but he's too wrapped up in Eames to notice just as Eames is too wrapped up in him to care.

Their movements are effortless, though somewhat clumsy, and when Eames enters Arthur in one fluid thrust and they groan in time with each other, it's like they've been doing this their entire life. Like they're doing something that they were made to do. Like they were made for each other.

When they finish and collapse together- one sweaty mess of tangled limbs- Arthur's head falls onto Eames' shoulder and kisses his neck and Eames just grins because he's certain he's never been happier.

It's like all his dreams have run and blurred together into one but as he brings his hand up to stroke Arthur's hair, he realizes that this is nothing like his dreams.

His dreams pale in comparison to his reality.


End file.
